


You Above All

by Wolven_Spirits



Series: Harry Potter Masters Death [3]
Category: Avengers (Comics), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A strange romance, F/M, Harry Potter is Death, Master of Death Harry Potter, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 15:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17748773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolven_Spirits/pseuds/Wolven_Spirits
Summary: Natasha’s ledger is dripping red, and she can never stop, because she is courting Death on a Pale Horse.





	You Above All

**Author's Note:**

> OOC Natasha. Harry is Death/MOD.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing

**You Above All**

They called her untouchable. Frigid. They said that no man could keep up with her. Even Hawkeye, who looked at her with such devotion, did not pretend to hope. And perhaps they were right.

“Never gonna catch a man with that attitude,” Stark had said to her once. Then she lifted her gun and he fled.

“If you ever need a wingman,” Steve offered, proud of his latest vocabulary acquisition. She smirked and patted his arm.

Because she didn’t need help. She had already entered courtship. One that she would never break. One that would lead her to Death.

—

She heard him the first time she killed. The sound of hooves like the tolling of bells.

Just a child, she jerked around, searching, but there was nothing. Only the dead body and reflective window that hid the faces of her evaluators.

The one she had killed lay in a growing pool of blood, eyes accusing and throat slit. The girl was a year older than Romanova, but such a thing didn’t matter anymore. Because the girl was dead and Romanova’s hand was dripping red.

She heard it then, every time she killed. The death knoll. In a way, she came to rely on it. Because when she heard it, she knew she had succeeded.

It was a constant reminder of her deeds. The only constant in her life.

—

She was fifteen when she first saw him. Her final kill dropped to the ground, lifeless. She would burn the abandoned warehouse to the ground, and no one would be able to trace the kill back to her.

Then she turned, and he was there. He sat upon a pale horse that stared at her with red eyes that were almost serpentine.

And he was shrouded in black, as if covered in a cloak that draped over every part of his body. It would have looked almost ridiculous had she not felt such overwhelming fear the moment she laid eyes upon him.

She stood frozen as the figure turned towards her, and for a moment she could not breathe. Could not move. Could do naught but stare into the darkness.

And then he was gone, and she fell to her knees, gasping for breath - for life.

Still, she did not hesitate with her next kill. And this time she stood, defiant, as she stared at the figure in black. She did not move as the cold surrounded her and chilled her to her very bones. She stared long after he had disappeared, bells ringing in her head.

And even when her world was shattered, even when they manipulated her and ruined her, there was one truth that she knew, and that was Him. It was a cold truth. A dark truth. And one that she had come to rely on, because in this world, it was the only truth.

—

She lifted her gun and fired, watching dispassionately as the body fell. Then she turned to the sound of bells and watched the figure approach, no longer frozen at the sight of him. No longer fearful of his darkness. Instead, she took one step forward, then another, and another, until she stood next to him, staring up into the depths of his shadows. She tilted her head slightly, watching as he turned his head to face her. Should she kneel? Prostrate herself on the floor?

No, it was not necessary. He knew. In the end, all would bow before him, willing or not. And so would she. Gladly.

Then he leaned forward, and a thin, pale hand emerged from the shroud, reaching down to trace along her jaw and gently lift her chin. His touch was cold, corpse-like, and it sent shivers through her very soul.

Following his silent command, she lifted her head further, and for a moment, she swore she saw a flash of green eyes.

Then it was gone, and he was sitting tall and unbent, and then he was gone, and she was left with the lingering cold of his caress burning all the way to her heart.

—

“Romanova,” He said. His voice was like the hissing of snakes and the grinding of stones. “Natasha.” He seemed to consider her for a moment. “Such beautiful gifts you give to me. I am pleased.” And then he was gone, and despite the chill, she felt all too warm.

—

She watched, her breath catching, as he raised his hands upwards and lowered his hood. Then he turned to look at her, and she saw such beauty and devastation as never she had seen before. His eyes, green as poison, sat upon a pale face, far too magificent for the human mind to comprehend. His hair, dark as night, blended with his cloak and misted into shadow.

Then he smiled, and part of her wished he would simply take her soul and hold it close, that she could forever be at his side.

“My dearest Black Widow,” he rasped. He tilted his head to the side, his hair shifting, and for a moment she thought she saw a thin streak across his forehead - a jagged scar like a lightning bolt. Then he moved again and it was gone. “I rejoice at your gifts. But even more so, I rejoice at the sight of you. Please me, Romanova, and you shall have my love.”

—

So she gave, and gave. And in order to do so, she took and took. And even as the times changed and her loyalties shifted, nothing could change her devotion.

And so she stood, covered in blood, as he dismounted for the very first time and stepped close. He smelled of grave dust and shadow, and his touch was as fleeting as life.

His hands started low, traveling up her thigh and over her hipbone, coming so wonderfully close to her core as it rose over her stomach and between her breasts, before resting upon her neck as he moved closer, his breath ghosting along her ear. “You, among all, who comes to me with open arms. To you, above all, I give my love.” His lips brushed against her neck, spreading a chill through her that burned hot as passion. Then he pressed closer and she gave herself to him, mind, body, and soul.


End file.
